The Piper (version 1)
by animegirl19791
Summary: Hette Rosenberg lives in the village of Hamelin, and has recently noticed a peculiar change in some of the children there, following visits by a mysterious hooded figure with an alluring melody. Very short story inspired by the work of Katy Towell (aka Crooked Sixpence). First time writing a short story, please tell me what you think :)


**The Piper**

_**Author's Note: **__I wrote two versions of this short story, as I couldn't decide on which plot I liked most. I'll confess this is greatly inspired by the works of Katy Towell (which are marvellously creepy), and one of my favourite fairy tales. I'll upload the second version as well as I really want to know what you guys think – which is better?_

_For those of you still waiting for an update on Potterlock, have no fear! I shall be posting soon!_

_OoOoO_

In the town of Hamelin, on the river Weser, there lived a little girl.

Her name was Hette Rosenberg, and she was six years old. She had inky black hair, eyes the colour of rainwater, and a freckle just above the left corner of her tiny mouth. She was good, quiet, and never got under Nanny Elsie's feet when she was tidying the nursery. She was everything a little girl should be. Her father was a town councilman, and her mother was a busy socialite who never had time for silly things such as bedtime and stories. If Hette ever tripped or woke from a nightmare, it was Nanny Elsie who soothed her frets and wiped her tears. While it made Hette sad sometimes, she remembered that she was a good girl, and she would play with her dolls in the nursery, or draw pictures, or simply sit in the garden and listen to the birds. There was a even cat who prowled through the grass some days, chasing the butterflies. Hette had named him Timothy, and he was her only companion in those long summer afternoons when Nanny Elsie was busy or sleeping.

Like all the little children in Hamelin, Hette knew of the Piper.

He would come on the night of Halloween, just before the church clock struck midnight, when the moon was high in the sky. His long shadow would precede him down the street outside Hette's house. If she climbed onto her toybox and peeped through the curtains that veiled her bedroom window, she could see his tall frame walking along the deserted road. She could make out no exact features about him – all she could see was his cloak, his long fingers, and the whistle he had to his lips, singing his call to the child who would leave Hamelin that night.

The children knew that the tune was never the same two years in a row. Sometimes it was happy, the sort of jig you'd dance to at a party or gathering. Other years it was slow and mournful, others as sweet as the breeze through the valley. A door of one of the tall houses that lined the street like toy soldiers would open, and a small person would step out into the moonlight. They would then leave with the Piper. In her lifetime, since she first peeped through the curtains, Hette had watched him call away Emeline Stoltman, Claus Zingsheim, Liesel Bracher, and even little Rosalind Appelbaum, who had only just learned to walk on her tiny feet. Hette had told Nanny Elsie of the Piper with his long fingers and hypnotising melody, but she simply smiled and patted her on the head. The Piper was one of her games, obviously – just a lonely child's fancy. She would not mention it to Herr Rosenberg or his wife – they were busy enough without the concerns of their daughter's imaginings.

The other little children of Hamelin also told their parents of the mysterious figure who called their friends away. Their parents told them don't be silly, darling. Why, Liesel was standing just over there with her mama, and there was little Claus playing with marbles by the fountain. Don't you see them? It seemed the mothers and fathers of Hamelin were unable to see the children's pale skin, the way they never seemed to blink, the way they whistled that strange melody that called them away that moonlit night.

Little Hette watched the other grown-ups of Hamelin. When Nanny Elsie took her to the market on Thursday afternoons, she would stare at Frau Kaufmann as he weighed out potatoes for Nanny Elsie, bidding her farewell without so much as a smile. She observed old Herr Metzger as he leaned on the school fence, watching the children at their games, the haunting melody that he whistled sending chills down Hette's back. She wondered to herself if Frau Kaufmann and old Herr Metzger had once walked down that long road with the Piper, if they had ever felt his long fingers curl around their shoulder.

The little children of Hamelin never spoke about the Piper amongst themselves. They never knew if he might be standing just around the corner, listening to them. Three-hundred and sixty-four days of not speaking his name made him seem almost fictional – imaginary as their parents believed. Then the tolls of the church bell would begin, and the next morning, one little child would not be quite the same as before.

It was not until Hette was nearly seven years old that it happened. She was lying in bed on Halloween night, wide awake as usual. She wondered to herself what tune the Piper would call tonight, and who would answer. It was not until the very last stroke of midnight that she heard it. It was the most beautiful song her little ears had ever heard. It spoke of moonlit dances, of silver waterfalls, flowers made of diamonds, and open arms ready to embrace her. Oh, there would be toys – mountains of toys, each more wonderful than the last! – and so many other children for her to play with. They would laugh and run forever. Eternally blissful in a land far away, beyond the gates of Hamelin, beyond the peaks of the surrounding mountains, beyond the edge of the world itself.

Little Hette swung her legs out of bed, and was surprised by how light she felt, both in heart and body. Gathering her favourite teddy bear in her arms, she eased open her bedroom door and tiptoed down the landing. Past Nanny Elsie's room, past Mama and Papa's room, down the stairs and out into the front garden. The Piper was waiting for her, the whistle glinting in the moonlight as he called her with that lovely song just for her.

He was tall. Taller than little Hette had imagined from her bedroom window, and his fingers were as white and delicate as spider-string. He turned slowly and began to walk back up the empty road, and Hette followed. She glanced up at his face, illuminated by the wash of silver light the moon gave. His face was completely blank, save for a small protuberance where a person's nose might have been. The whistle hovered a small space away from the canvas of his mouth. Hette was not afraid. She reached up a hand towards the hooded figure, and felt those strange, spindled fingers entwine themselves in hers. Together they followed the winding road that led the way out of town, Hette still clutching her teddy bear under one arm.

The next morning, when Nanny Elsie rose to wake little Hette, she could have sworn there was something different about the child. But, for her life, she could not think of what it might be.


End file.
